Author: Robyn

Political Compass test and my result is thus: Right there around Mandela, the Dalai Lama, and Gandhi. Heh. Take the test and tell me your results in the comments!

* * * The Bachelorette spoilers in this section; skip it if you haven’t seen the final episode yet! I absolutely do NOT get why Meredith would take it upon herself to tell Matt that she would be “honored” to receive a ring from him at the end, when SHE DIDN’T CHOOSE HIM. To me, telling him something like that would make me think she WAS going to choose him. From what I could tell, her saying that kind of came out of the blue, not in response to Matt saying “What would you think if I gave you a ring?” Of course, I suppose that could be through editing. Gah. I don’t know, I still liked Todd better than either Ian OR Matt, anyway. I still don’t necessarily think that Ian’s the right guy for her, but they were both so happy at the end that I couldn’t begrudge them that happiness. I do hope that it lasts and that they end up married, though from all I’ve read, Meredith won’t go for the multi-million-dollar extravaganza the way Trista did, so we can only wait and see. Matt is one classy guy, with that speech at the end. I’m sure he’s got half a million girls in Texas chasing him down right about now! * * * So yesterday, I watched High Price of Fame – Under the Knife. In this show, they talked about celebrities who’ve obviously had plastic surgery and those who may have had it. Then they followed people who were having plastic surgery and showed the results. There was an absolutely adorable girl who wanted to be an anchor, but thought she looked too young, so had a chin implant. I was skeptical, but she looked pretty good at the end. There was a guy who’d lost 115 pounds and was having liposuction and a tummy tuck, and he looked pretty good at the end (of course, he looked pretty good to begin with, too!). And then? And then, oh people, came the woman who made me want to cry. Heidi Marks, if you’ve never heard of her (I hadn’t), used to be married to Vince Neil. They showed a picture of her at her wedding to Vince. Pretty girl, right? Well then, they showed her as she is now: God, why why WHY do women do this to themselves? She was SO CUTE before, why did she have to go for the silicon in the lips and the I’m-so-surprised brow lift? She looks like a freak, with her huge duck lips and her unmoving upper face. GAH. People, please. PLEASE do not INJECT SILICON IN YOUR LIPS. I understand the desire to have lips like Angelina Jolie, only the problem is that Angelina Jolie’s lips are like that naturally, and that look cannot be duplicated successfully by injecting crap into your lips. YOU LOOK LIKE A DUCK. I understand the heartbreak and pain behind having thin lips. I have the thinnest upper lip in the world. When I laugh, it disappears. But I’ve learned to live with the lipless pain. You can too! Don’t fuck with your lips, folks. PLEASE. Hey, I’m all FOR plastic surgery, but not when it comes to the lips. Hell no. You don’t want to look like Heidi Marks, do you? (Oh, and in case you’re curious, they were featuring Heidi Marks not because she looks freakish now, but rather because she was undergoing her third surgery for breast implants) * * * Excuse the quality of the pictures below. I took them using the camcorder “snapshot” function. The bean stalks that damn feather toy the Daddy is always waving around. When the Bean gets annoyed at the Daddy, who won’t STOP WAVING THAT DAMN TOY AROUND SO THE BEAN CAN GET IT, he goes and hangs out in the Stump Cave. I sang “And here’s to you, Pooty Pooterson, jesus loves you more than you will know – whoa whoa whoa” to Miz Poo last night, and Fred didn’t even smile. Bastard. (I also sang “Sometimes it’s hard to be a Pooty. Giving all your love to just one Stump. He’ll have good times, and you’ll have bad times doin’ things that you don’t understand. Stand by your Stump!” in a very thick southern accent, but it wasn’t all that funny. I had fun with it, though!) ]]>

* * * I spent a long time reading through Mac‘s archives last night. Why have none of you people directed me to this woman’s blog before now? Bad, bad readers.

* * * “I feel like this country is going to hell in a handbasket and picking up speed!” I said to Fred on the phone this morning. He half-laughed and said “What do you mean?” “We’ve got a goddamn President who wants to amend our constitution to ensure that gay people can’t marry! Any time I buy an airline ticket, those fuckers are going to do a background check on me and DECIDE WHETHER OR NOT I GET TO FLY! They’re passing spending bills that allow companies to cut the amount of overtime they pay! There are an assload of people in this country who DEPEND on overtime to LIVE. This DOES NOT STRIKE ME as a government that is staying the FUCK out of my face!” Fred agreed and pointed out that Republicans, so the rumor goes, are supposed to be the political party that doesn’t believe in big government. “Oh, I think I KNOW what’s next,” I said. “With all the news stories about how fat this country is? They’re going to come haul my fat ass away to the Dr. Phil and Bob Greene Internment Camp, where they’ll feed me Dr. Phil’s Shape-Up bars and drinks and make me run around in circles until I look like Lara Flynn Boyle!” “Know what’s funny?” Fred said. “When you said this country is going to hell in a handbasket?” “Yeah?” “The people who believe that gays shouldn’t marry feel the same way, that we’re going to hell in a handbasket.” “But THEY are WRONG,” I said. He just laughed. Seriously, it makes me want to sell everything I own, buy a yurt, slap it down in the middle of nowhere, and live off the freakin’ land. You can oppose the Federal Marriage Amendment here, if you’re of a mind to. This is what I hope. I hope that when the spud is my age, she can say to her children “Did you know that there was a time when gay men and women were not allowed to marry the person they loved?” And that her kids will feel the way I feel when I read about how people of different races once upon a time were not allowed to marry each other, that they will laugh in disbelief and say “No way! They weren’t? But why? That’s so ignorant!”, and that the spud will have to shrug and say to her children “I don’t know. It was a different time then.” And then that my grandchildren will pause to be grateful that they aren’t living in those backwards times. (Many of those above links (except for the yurt link) were taken from Mac’s blog.) * * * So, American Idol. You know, I really really wanted to like Jon Peter Lewis, and I LOVE that song, but when he came out and started singing Tiny Dancer, I cringed and turned to Fred and yelled “What the fuck is he DOING?” “Baby” sounded like “bay-hey” and “lady” like “lay-hey.” What the hell is that about? I would have a video clip right here to illustrate my point, because I taped the show with the DVR and then taped it from the DVR to the VCR and tried to dump it to the camera, but messed it up. Maybe tomorrow. LaToya London kicked ASS. If she doesn’t make it through to the next round, I’ll eat my hat. (Which is a trick statement, since I don’t have a hat. Ha!) * * * IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED LAST NIGHT’S EPISODE OF SCRUBS, SKIP THIS SECTION. SPOILERS INSIDE. How many fucking times am I going to be suckered in by the “Oh, wait! He’s dead!” thing? I’m thinking of two different books and of course the one big movie with that ending, and yet I still get completely suckered in. When Dr. Cox walked in and JD said “Fifteen minutes after you left, he went into cardiac arrest and died”, I actually laughed, because I thought that Dr. Cox was going to misunderstand and think that JD was talking about his friend and there would be a whole brouhaha. ARGH. ARGH, I SAY. I dumped the whole show to the DVR so I can watch it again, because I’m a freak. Yes, I got all teary-eyed when it came clear what was going on. Again, I say ARGH. * * * Public service announcement: Should have. Would have. Could have. Not should of, would of, or could of. Should’ve sounds like “should of”, but it’s not spelled that way. (Public service announcement brought about by reading Pamie’s comments earlier.) * * * What the kitties spend most of their day doing. ]]>

* * * Pet store kitty pics are here.

* * * “What does that sign say?” the spud asked from the back seat of Fred’s (former) Jeep on Sunday. We were sitting at a red light waiting to turn right, and on the telephone pole a few feet away was a picture of a dog. “It says ‘lost’.” I said. “I thought you wore GLASSES,” Fred said with a significant look over his shoulder. “I’m not wearing them right now,” the spud said in her how-stupid-are-YOU voice. “My point exactly,” Fred said. He went on, “If you were wearing your glasses like you SHOULD, you would know that that says ‘lost’.” The spud rolled her eyes and squinted up at the sign. “What’s lost?” “A dog,” I said, and opened my mouth to elaborate, but Fred beat me to the punch. “A chihuahua,” he said, pronouncing it “Chuh-hooa-hooa” like Les Nessman would. The light turned green and we turned right. “That did NOT say it was a chihuahua,” I said. “It said it was a chocolate lab!” “No! Are you sure?” Fred asked. “It’s a chocolate lab and she’s shy and isn’t wearing a collar,” I said, proving that I’d read the entire sign. There was a long silence, and then the spud snorted from the back seat. “Yeah!” she said. “Who needs glasses NOW?” Heh. * * * We watched Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star this past weekend (you just shut up), and I highly recommend it, not necessarily for the movie, but for what’s after the movie. Which is a bunch of former child stars singing a song, with the video reminding me one hell of a lot of We Are the World. Hell, it’s worth it for the part where Peter Brady chimes in with the cracked voice a la When it’s Time to Change (“you’ve got to rearraaaaaaaaange whoyaareandwhatyou’reagonnabe ShananananananaNUH, shanananananananNUH!”) When did those Brady kids get so goddamn old? * * * I’d say last night’s episode of My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance was a bit anticlimactic. What was with that whole speech where Steve talked about how the Coys were so close and cared so much for each other? That was ass-kissy, wasn’t it? Ah well. I predicted to Fred that they’d get a million bucks no matter what happened, and apparently they can use it. When she was talking about how she’d done it all for them because she knew that Crazy Pat wanted to move out and Melanie wanted to travel and Bobby wouldn’t have to worry about having to afford college, they looked a little embarrassed about the fuss they’d made, didn’t they? I’d make an ass out of my family for half a million bucks, nooooo problem. For that matter, if anyone in my family wants to make an ass out of me (though I do a pretty good job of it myself) for $500,000, consider this my blanket permission. * * * Reader Erin sent me a card that made her think of me. I can’t IMAGINE why on earth it made her think of me… Heh. Thanks, Erin! inside: Personally, I like to bitch. Which reminded me of the card I saw at Target last year that I just had to buy, even though I didn’t have anyone to send it to: inside: I did a crappy thing. please forgive me. I also got a funny card from Jane, who signed it in such a way that I laughed out loud and swallowed my gum. Then I showed it to Fred, who didn’t appreciate the humor. Bastard. I’d scan it, but I’m too lazy to go look for the book it’s serving as a bookmark in (my god, that sentence was horribly constructed). I’m a card-getting motherfucker, that’s right. * * * The stump looks pissy for no discernible reason. The stump storms the perimeter of the yard, trying to find a way out (behind him is a hole in the fence too small to get through. Mr. Fancypants used to love to stand and stare through that hole into the yard next door. Freak.). He takes a break to slurp down some water from the bowl we leave outside so that our cats don’t have to go any further than a few feet at any given time whenever they happen to be thirsty. God forBID they have to haul their asses all the way upstairs to the water bowl. Man on a mission. (He wasn’t able to find a way out. Yay!)]]>

An excellent way to show your support; I just sent some money that way. It would rock if every single couple waiting in line to get married in SF was given flowers, dontchathink? Also, Desi sent me a link to this picture, and I followed another link to this wonderful set of pictures.

* * * Hey, look! A couple of the guys from The Bachelorette have their own web sites. Todd, who was funny as hell, is here, and Ryan M. (that cute guy who couldn’t shut up) is here. Can a Trista and Ryan blog be far behind? I think not! * * * I just started on my first packet of Seasonale last night. This means, if my calculations are correct, that I won’t be having my period again until mid-May. You have NO idea how thrilled I am by this, folks. I’m going to save a fortune on tampons, that’s for sure. I do expect, however, that my body will be confused as hell in a few weeks. I always start retaining water about a week before my period is due. The pill I was on is monophasic (a steady dose of hormones throughout the course of the pill, rather than triphasic, in which the hormone level changes through the course of the pill), which means that there’s no reason my body should do anything to prepare for the onset of my period until the Sunday comes when I don’t feed it a pill at bedtime. But I’ve been on the pill for several years, and I guess my body has adjusted well enough to know when to start retaining water. I’m going to estimate that it’ll take an entire year for my body to completely adjust to the new regimen, but that’s okay with me. Better a confused body for a year with only 4 periods a year, than an unconfused body and 12 periods. Oh, don’t give me that look. Y’all KNOW you love it when I talk about my period! * * * Lately – say over the past few weeks – Fred has started pointing out SUVs that he thinks he’d like. Because I’m pretty good at reading the signs, I had a feeling that we’d be shopping for a new SUV sometime soon. Finally Friday, we started seriously talking about it, and decided to do some looking around over the weekend. Actually, what we talked about was trading in his Jeep for a new vehicle, but I came up with a better idea: trade in my Jeep, since it’s in worse shape than his, PLUS we owe less money on it, and his Jeep could become mine. Which means that I’d get a Jeep that is in better shape AND has a kick-ass stereo. Saturday morning Fred headed out to check out an SUV that had the look and price that was within our range. He called me on his way home to tell me that it was “ugly as hell” and that he was no longer interested in it. Saturday evening, at my suggestion, we got Subway for dinner. After we ate, we went to another dealership, where we all piled in to another SUV and went for a test drive. The verdict? It was okay, but he didn’t love it. (He asked my opinion, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s his opinion that counts, since he’s the one who’ll be driving it) It’s only a 4 cylinder, and after driving an 8-cylinder Jeep, it was a big difference. We got a printout from the salesman showing the different payment options, Fred told him he wanted to think about it, and we left. We spent a good part of Sunday driving around looking at different SUVs, unmolested by salespeople, since most car places are closed on Sundays around here. We stopped at a dealership near where Fred works when a particularly cute SUV caught his eye, and they happened to be selling a yellow Beetle. The door was unlocked, so I actually sat in the car and got a feel for how comfortable I’d be in a Beetle. It was amazing how much room was in that car, especially the dashboard. (No, this is not a story about how we went to look at cars for Fred and came home with a yellow Beetle for me, unfortunately!) This morning Fred went to test-drive an SUV he really liked, and he reported back to me that he really, really likes it. He’s going to go drive another SUV at another dealership later this morning, but the one he drove this morning has 6 cylinders, and the one he’s going to go drive later is only a 4 cylinder. I’m pretty sure he’s going to call me this afternoon and tell me he signed the papers to buy the 6 cylinder SUV. This is absolutely the most adult thing we’ve ever done, shopping around for an SUV. Before, we’ve always said “Hey, let’s go look at cars!”, and ended up coming home that very same day with a new (used) car. This whole test-driving and thinking-about-it thing, the running the numbers to see what the payment would be, the seeing who’ll give us a good deal? Never done it before. Sad, isn’t it? What’s even cooler than Fred getting a new SUV and passing his Jeep on to me, is the fact that THAT Jeep will be paid off, or close to it, in about a year. And then? And then, my friends, it will be time for me to get a new vehicle. A car. A SMALL car. Possibly a yellow Beetle. And I’m willing to wait a whole year to get what I want. Will wonders never cease? * * * I love these little bitty birds. Finches, aren’t they? Spanky, checking to be sure the back door is still open. Such a pretty boy. ]]>

I’m a poor kitty who has lost his way look on his face. He meowed sadly again, realized that he was looking at his Momma, who was holding the box of Kitten Chow, and ran over to me. “Get your ass in there!” I said, pushing him through the gate into our back yard with my foot. I had to push Spanky back into the back yard as well, and then I shut the gate. I was like the Pied Piper, shaking the box and followed by a trio of kitties as I walked back to the door and into the house. They all came through the door after me and looked expectantly up at me. I gave each of them a few pieces of Kitten Chow, and shut the door. Fred’s going to block off the gap under the front fence, but I swear to god, I’m about ready to go out and buy one of those free-standing dog fences and if the Bean wants to go out in the yard, I’ll put him in there and let him sniff around. Little bastard.

* * * A few weeks ago, after finishing the last available Casey Jones book, I went to the author’s site, found that there was no information about another one coming out soon, and emailed the author to see if/ when we could expect the next one. Dear Katy Munger – I think it is cruel and unusual of you to write Better off Dead, a book so compelling that I stayed up until after 1 AM to see how it ended, and not have another Casey Jones book written so that I can move on to reading it. Instead, I’m sitting here sadly missing Casey and wondering what she’s up to. Please immediately drop whatever you’re doing and write another Casey Jones book for me. Also, dedicate it to me. No, name a character after me! I’m kidding in that last paragraph. But seriously, when can we expect another Casey Jones book? Sincerely, Robyn This morning in my in-box, a response! Dear Robyn, I wanted to write back and thank you for your kind letter about my Casey Jones books. It came at a good time: I am entering the home stretch and about to finish up a draft of what has been a long process with my current book (not a Casey). Once it is done, probably in late Spring, I am going to get back to finishing a Casey in progress. I hope to have a new one done by year end. And: Burley makes a return appearance! Plus, you never know… there may be a character in there named after you, after all…. Hopefully, you’ll still be in the mood for more Casey by the time it hit bookstores! I took a few years off from writing and got back to it just last year. It’s great to be back, but I can only hope my readers are still out there! Thanks again for writing, and best wishes for a great 2004. all the best, Katy Munger I’m sure she’s kidding about naming a character after me, but how awesome is it to hear back from an author I really like? Too cool! (On a side note, if anyone out there writes a book, I definitely think you should name a character after me.) * * * I love this idea. It actually took me a minute to understand it – Why would someone from Minneapolis, MN send flowers to a random couple getting married in San Francisco? Hmm… Oh yeah! Duh. – but I think it’s one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. Spread the love! * * * When was the last time you… 1. …went to the doctor? Earlier this month. Maybe the 4th? 2. …went to the dentist? Oh god, it’s been years. I desperately need to go. Maybe next month. 3. …filled your gas tank? Last week, maybe? I don’t have to fill up my tank all that often, every two or three weeks unless it’s been a busy errand-running week. 4. …got enough sleep? Last night. I get enough sleep most nights, except for the occasional Monday morning, when I have to get up early to go feed the cats at the pet store, and even then I get a solid 6 or 7 hours. 5. …backed up your computer? Probably the last time I reformatted, which would have been, oh, probably a couple of months ago. I need to do it again, I suppose, but I doubt that I actually will! * * * Spot and the Bean belly up to the water bowl. This gives you some idea of how lanky the Bean has become over the past few months. Spanky and the Bean checking out the fence. Something’s caught the Bean’s interest. Spanky and the Bean haul ass for the back door. ]]>

* * * I clearly need a life, desperately. Last night I had a night-long dream that I was on Survivor. It was a very involved dream, and at the end I discovered that I had won the million dollars, and I wanted to know how to get the million dollar check, so I asked the manager of the hotel where I was staying, and she got Jeff Probst’s phone number for me. Apparently my knowledge that they present the million dollar check the next morning on The Early Show didn’t make it into the dream with me. Survivor tonight! Whoo!

* * * The Bachelorette (spoilers inside): Okay Chad, you’re a good-lookin’ guy and nice to boot, but if you’re going to make THAT big of a deal about worrying about the right time to lay one on Meredith, well, that’s just kinda freaky. I predict that Meredith is going to end up with Matt, because that’s what the editors want me to think, and I don’t necessarily think Ian’s the right guy for her. But what the hell do I know? I thought Bob was going to pick Kelly Jo. * * * American Idol (spoilers within): I was really surprised that Lisa didn’t make it through – I thought she was one of the best. I don’t really care for Camile, though if she can get over her nervousness, that might change. I like Matt Rodgers, and Fred pointed out that as the show ended last night and Matt was singing, he sounded way better than he had the night before. It disappointed me how much the two brothers just sucked. God, that was awful. Next week can’t possibly be as horrid as this week was (knock on wood!). * * * I said to Fred last night, “I bet if I spent less time on the computer, I could read a book a day!” Some days I do read a book a day, but that doesn’t happen all that often, especially with the thicker books. I spend an awful lot of time in front of the computer, though, updating this journal, reading the journals I like to read, checking Nance and Mo 65,000 times a day to see if they’ve updated their blogs. With all the time I’ve spent on my ass in front of the computer in the last few years, you’d think I could have pounded out a book or something (I haven’t, so don’t get all excited/ annoyed thinking I’m about to announce that I’ve written the breathtaking saga of my life – Robyn: “Still So Fat” After All These Years – and sold it for a buck fifty to St. Martin’s Press). Maybe I’ll declare April “Book A Day” month. Not March, ’cause spring break’s right in the middle of March, and we might be doing something that week (we haven’t decided), so I need a completely uninterrupted month to accomplish my goal. We’ll see. And by the way, yes. It IS nice to be able to spend the days doing what I want, when I want, so long as grub’s on the table by 5. I’m fully aware that I’m a lucky, lucky bitch. * * * Miz Poo was laying in the cat bed under the lamp, when the Bean came up and made himself at home next to her. She looked at Fred for help. She looked at me, hoping I’d give her a hand getting rid of that little bastard. And when she saw that no help was forthcoming, she gave up and went back to sleep. ]]>

This is absolutely hilarious! (Link stolen from Busy Mom). I’m totally sending a “having a great time, call you when we get home!” postcard. Heh.

* * * I actually see sunshine out my window. I haven’t seen sunshine in what seems like forEVer. It’s even supposed to get up to 60 tomorrow. I’ll believe it when I see it, but I hope like hell it happens! I went out into the back yard yesterday afternoon to refill the bird feeders and put out some peanuts for the squirrels. It was about 45 out (YES, I know that’s a heatwave to you arctic-living mofos, but it’s kind of COLD to me) so I left the back door open to let Miz Poo and the Bean out to run around if they so desired. I didn’t think they’d have much interest in running around in the grass, since it’s still so wet out there. When I came back inside I let them stay out there, periodically checking on them. They seemed to be happy staying on and around the patio, so I came back to my computer to surf or check email, or whatever the hell I was doing. After two or three minutes, I went back to check on them, and they had vanished. I went to the bottom of the stairs and called up to the spud, asking if she had brought either of them upstairs with her, and she said that she hadn’t seen them. I put on my shoes and ventured into the backyard, toward the shed. The only part of the back yard you can’t see from the back door is the part hidden by the shed. There used to be a gap on the other side of the shed, but Fred blocked it so that they can’t go through it. I was almost to the shed when the Bean appeared beside it, looking guilty, and then hauled ass toward the house. When I reached the shed, I saw Miz Poo sitting near the part of the fence where the gap had been, looking bereft. She looked up at me and whined, and when I leaned down to pick her up, she jumped up into my arms. Maybe she forgot that you had to go around the big shed to get home, or something. There was a huge pile of feathers next to the shed, but they looked like they’d been there for a while, so I don’t think any of the cats had anything to do with the maiming or killing of the bird they belonged to. After I got Miz Poo and the Bean back inside the house, I went back out, filled a bowl with peanuts, and left it on the patio for the squirrels. This morning when I looked outside, there was a Blue Jay knocking the bowl over, and when he flew away he had a peanut in his mouth. Who knew that a Blue Jay would be interested in an unshelled peanut? * * * On a routine check of my stats this past weekend, I found that I’d suddenly started getting a huge amount of hits. I usually get less than 1,000 visits per day on the weekend (because I don’t update), and by 3pm on Saturday I’d already gotten 2,000 hits. When I went to look at my referrals, I found a ton of searches on “fuck” in it’s many forms. A little more research showed that, being a dumbass, when I changed the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb page from here to here, I’d completely taken down the original page instead of replacing it with a page directing people to the new GFY page. People were searching on “fuck”, trying to get to this page, and ending up on the 404 page. Not only did I fix that by putting up the redirection page (and not putting a sitemeter on that page), but I also did a little research to find out how to stop robots from crawling my site. Hopefully one day soon I’ll stop being Google’s bitch. With all the hits I was getting for people searching on “Fuck”, though, surely I could have crowned myself “The Queen of Fuck.” * * * Aussies, what on earth is a “battered sav”? I’m reading the book Confessions of a Reformed Dieter, by AJ Rochester (and liking it a great deal), but she mentions “battered savs” a lot, and I’m dying with curiosity to know what on earth it is. I’m liking this book so much that I’m actually going to KEEP it, I think, instead of giving it away on the giveaway page. I hardly ever do that! (Note: I ordered my copy from Abbey’s Bookshop in Australia, as it’s not available in the US at this point) * * * If you’re an Andrew Vachss fan, you might find this as fascinating as I did. Speaking of Andrew Vachss, I was watching a movie on TV a few weeks ago – City by the Sea, with DeNiro and Frances McDormand – and I think I may have possibly spotted the guy who could play Burke. He’s not nearly old enough, but he’s the only actor I’ve ever come across who makes me think he could play the role without fucking it up. Would be interesting to see, no? * * * ]]>

blogrolling‘s bitch. I have a blogroll for everything. I have a blogroll for the blogs I check that are passworded or members-only, I have a blogroll for the blogs and journals I read that I have Change Detect-ed, I have a blogroll for the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb, and I even have a blogroll so that I can change my links page over. I can’t help it, it’s just so cool! Also, I’m a dork.

* * * Pet store kitty pics are hither. Also, new movie of the week, starring the Bean and Miz Poo. We call it “Daddy, Don’t You Twirl That Fucking Toy So Fast.”
Mister Boogers and Miz Poo chase the feather toy. from Robyn Anderson on Vimeo. * * * Regarding “My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance” last night, I have to say that I was actually a little impressed by the way Randi’s Mom and Dad pulled together to be there for their little princess. I mean, while unhappy enough about the way it was happening, at least they were willing to suck it up and be there for her. That asshole of an older brother of hers on the other hand, with his Jake Busey-looking self, and the dead, flat, serial-killer eyes, what the FUCK? I mean, who on EARTH gives that much of a shit who their sibling marries? I can guarantee you that if I were in Randi’s place, my family might be puzzled and make fun of me and place bets on how long it’d last behind closed doors and toss a coin to see who has to be around to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart, but they’d have the class to pretend to be happy and attend my wedding and plaster big fake smiles on their faces while it was going on. I told Fred that if Randi and her family don’t end up getting the money, she should be sure to let that brother of hers know exactly whose fault it is. What a self-centered jackass. When the actress playing Steve’s mother said “Will there be any simpler appetizers (at the reception)? Steven likes Rice Krispy Treats and Hot Pockets…”, Fred turned to me and said “Steve sounds like our kind of people.” Heh. * * * Yesterday was not a good day to be the Bean. (On a side note, we are calling the Bean “Stumpy” and “the stump” more and more lately. This, after Fred wouldn’t let me name him “Stubby” because it would be “making fun of his handicap.” Hmph.) First, he was sleeping in the cat bed which sits on the table at the end of the couch. The cats like sleeping there, especially when the lamp is turned on, because it’s so warm and cozy. Anyway, I glanced over in his direction in time to see him sit up, turn around, yawn, lay down, and then stretch. The bed was a tad too close to the edge of the table and he stretched just a tad too exuberantly, and as I watched, he slid over the side of the table onto his stupid little head. I gasped, which startled Fred, who yelled “What???” from his position two feet away from me. I told him that the Bean fell off the table, and he got mad at me, as though I had gasped ON FUCKING PURPOSE GODDAMNIT IT PISSES ME OFF WHEN HE GETS MAD AT ME FOR SOMETHING I DO INVOLUNTARILY and then I snarled at him and stomped off, but not before checking on the stump, who was sitting on the floor, shaking his head and licking his paw, but was apparently okay. Last night at bedtime, Fred went upstairs and I finished reading my email and followed him, book in one hand and bottle of water in the other. I stepped on the top step, and as my foot went down with no small amount of weight behind it, the mayday horns went off in my head, and an instant later I realized that I was putting my foot down on something warm, furry, and purring. I flung myself onto the other leg, throwing my bottle of water in one direction and my book in the other. The foot I was now standing on slipped, and I skidded down three or four steps, yelling “DAMN IT!” at the top of my lungs. Fred came out of the bedroom, cats scattering in all directions, their tails bushed out and eyes wide and dark. “I’m okay, you need to check Stumpy!” I said. “I think I stepped on him hard! I don’t know where he went…” Where he went was in the master bedroom under the bed, where he was out of danger of having fat women tromp on him. It turned out he was okay, but he was pretty skittish for the rest of the evening, and he certainly kept his eye on me whenever I came near. Poor dumb Stumpy. * * * Not long before he went over the side, I believe. The spud took this picture not long after we got the stump. The earnest look on Tubby’s face just cracks me up. ]]>

Lost in Translation Saturday night, interested in seeing it because we’d heard so very many good things about it. Fifteen minutes in, Fred was ready to turn it off, but I wanted to see how it ended. All in all, I’d rate it an “eh”, but I don’t resent the time spent watching it. Clearly I possess not the depth and understanding of the human condition that would let me pretentiously wax poetic at length about the magic of the movie. Give me the beginning-middle-end kind of movie girl meets boy zany moments ensue they break up but end up together. Give me the zany girl meets boy meets another boy has a threesome dumps them both to “I choose me”. And christ almighty, if you’re going to ask me to join you on your hour and a half or two-hour (tour! A two-hour tour!) journey that is your movie, don’t fucking end it with one character whispering into the other character’s ear and not let me know what he said. Don’t keep secrets from the people who’ve paid money to watch your fucking movie; you end up coming across as self-impressed and smug and next time the option to watch a movie written and directed by you comes along, I’ll just pass on that, thanks. I WANT TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID. (Also, something about Scarlett Johansson‘s face really REALLY bugs me, and I look longingly forward to the day when her It-Girl status is gone with the wind.)

* * * Also, I watched In the Cut Friday afternoon and clearly – snore – I am getting old and stodgy, because the dick-sucking at the beginning of the movie (’bout five minutes in, I’d guess, if you’re fast-fowarding to see it) was completely unnecessary, all I could think was “MUST WE SEE THE PENIS SLIDING IN AND OUT OF THE MOUTH?” I mean, what the fuck? It’s not like I’ve never seen porn before, but is it not possible to show that a blowjob is being performed without SEEING mouth and penis? It’s like the trend lately of showing someone vomiting by focusing lovingly on the vomit spewing out of the vomiter’s mouth, because OBVIOUSLY if we just heard the heaving noise and saw the person leaning over as if they were vomiting and heard the liquid hitting the ground we would be sitting there with huge question marks over our heads, and we would be saying “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why is he making that gagging noise? Why is he leaning over? What’s going ON? I’m so confused!”, clearly we MUST see every little bit of the vomit spewing forth from the mouth and the disgusted FUCK, how many times are we going to shoot this fucking scene? look on the actor’s face. And then later on in the movie when Mark Ruffalo and Meg Ryan (who should sue her plastic surgeon) are having sex and his face is right down there in her crotch, all I could think is “God in heaven, it just has to suck to shoot scenes like that. Because when you’re all writhing around with the moaning and shit, how can you NOT be thinking to yourself Mark Ruffalo’s face is two inches from my crotch AND I’M NOT ENJOYING IT.? It’s not even so much that it’s Meg “Sally” Ryan shooting explicit sex scenes, it’s WHY MUST THEY SHOW IT?? If I want to see explicit sex, I’ll download some porn, okay? Otherwise, just show some kissing and some nudity and fade to black, and when the next scene starts with both parties looking satisfied and smoking cigarettes, we will FIGURE IT OUT, I promise. Good lord. * * * So, because I know Fred won’t get mad at me for poking fun at him, remember when he sent me roses for my birthday and I loved and adored them? I called him after I received them, and I said “I LOVE these flowers. I want these very exact same flowers, these Confetti Roses, for Valentine’s Day! I love them!” And about a week before Valentine’s Day, I said “Valentine’s Day is next week. Do I need to remind you what I want?”, and he said “No, I remember!”, all huffy at the thought that he might have forgotten. I left the house to do some errands on Friday and when I came home there was a bouquet of flowers sitting in front of the door, and I opened the door to find these: Turns out that Fred had called the florist and said “Do you have something LIKE Confetti Roses, only not Confetti Roses?” Give the boy points for taking initiative (“Who wants the same roses two months in a row?” he said. Um, me?) and I’m not complaining because they really are pretty roses. Considering how often I got anything on Valentine’s Day from husband #1 (answer: never), I’m well aware of how lucky I am. My gift to him was a cake I baked with my own little hands. A lemon poppyseed cake. Not only did he love it, he also shared it with the spud and I. Whee! I couldn’t decide what to get the spud for Valentine’s Day. The traditional gift would be a small stuffed animal and some candy, but that child has SO FUCKING MANY stuffed animals that I was damned if I’d add to the huge-ass collection on her bed, strewn all over her floor, and stuffed in her closet. Finally, I printed out her wish list and took a trip to Target, where I bought Legally Blonde 2 on dvd, a card, and a couple of heart-shaped Snickers. Pretty good idea, I thought. * * * Tara! Is this your cute little baby cousin?: We didn’t actually watch The District, but I had made a note to myself to tape it so I could see your cousin (yes, I’m a dork). She is ADORABLE. Fred joked “I could have done an acting job as good as the one she’s doing!” Heh. Maybe he’ll go into acting next! That would be fun. Not! * * * Did y’all see Extreme Makeover: Home Edition last night? That was AWESOME. I can’t believe there’s only one episode of Sex and the City left. I think it’s pretty obvious which way they’re leaning toward ending it, if last night’s episode was any indication and they’re not fucking with us. * * * Man on a mission. The beast within. ]]>

this link. Y’all have GOT to check it out, this woman’s house is unbelievable. I’ve gone back and looked at the pictures three or four times and my mind just boggles. Absolutely amazing.

* * * I have no idea on earth how it can possibly take the spud so long to do a job that it takes me 5 – 7 minutes to do, but every night she’s in there wandering around for 45 minutes to an hour, and every single night she’s forgotten something important like, ohhhhhhhhhh, wiping down the counters or taking out the trash or PUTTING THE FUCKING WINDEX BACK UNDER THE CUPBOARD FROM WHENCE SHE GOT IT. Molasses runs in her veins, I swear to god. Every fucking night. * * * You snooze, you loose – Nance has claimed the “You gotta be shittin’ me” blog idea for herself. Woot! * * * William Hung (“She bang! She bang!”) has a page devoted to him. If you missed his audition, you’ve GOTTA check it out, folks. * * * So I used to have four framed pictures hanging on the wall in the downstairs bathroom. Three of them were pictures of Maine that I bought while I was in Maine a few summers ago, and one was a picture of a waterfall in Gatlinburg that I bought while we were – obviously – in Gatlinburg a few years ago. It was a pain in the ass always making sure that they were straight, because if you brushed them even slightly they’d go all askew, and life’s just too damn short to spend ten minutes a day straightening the friggin’ pictures hanging in the BATHROOM. One day I was at Target and happened to be looking for a picture frame, when I came across a frame that I really liked, a black frame with a mat that had two 4×6 cutouts, and I thought to myself that I could buy the frame, put a couple of pictures that I had taken in it, and replace the troublesome 4 frames with one frame that would showcase pictures I had actually taken myself, because god knows I have 63,000 pictures of the beach in Maine and waterfalls in Gatlinburg. So I bought it, and had a couple of pictures printed out, and voila! Top picture, Laurel Falls near Gatlinburg, bottom picture, Popham Beach in Maine. (I would have taken a picture of it hanging on the wall, but with the glare from the light, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the pictures were) I’m such an artiste. * * * 1. Are you superstitious? Not really, but I don’t believe in borrowing trouble, so I don’t go out of my way to walk under ladders or cross the paths of black cats on Friday the 13th. I also have no desire to spend the night in a haunted house or BRING POSSIBLY HAUNTED OBJECTS INTO MY HOUSE. 2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition? Those baseball players who have the weird rituals, where they wear the same underwear for six days straight without washing because last time they won a game they’d done the same thing are pretty extreme. 3. Believer or not, what’s your favorite superstition? Oh, “step on a crack, break your mother’s back”, I guess. Even now, I’ll sometimes go out of my way not to step on a crack, because I don’t want Debbie to be stuck caring for my broken-backed mother. Heh. 4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual? I believe you make your own luck for the most part, but also that it tends to even out in the end. I also believe that what some people see as bad luck, others see as an opportunity. When god closes a door, he opens a window – that’s Jane‘s favorite saying. I think you should all email her and remind her of that. 5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not? Ehhhh, I don’t think so, but who the hell knows? * * * The Bean sure does love laying under the lamp in the living room. Spanky, looking worried and confused. You can’t tell in this picture, but he has several drops of water on his nose. The boy cannot drink water without splashing half a gallon of it up on his nose. Sunset from the back yard. It’d be prettier without the wires, methinks. ]]>